


Game Night

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 00:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: During dinner at Anathema's cottage, Newt recommends they play a game, but Anathema has strong opinions about what they should play.





	Game Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the inbox prompt - I loved 'Never Have I Ever'! For the mini fic prompts, can I prompt game night? Maybe with Anathema again?

“Hey!” Newt says around Anathema as the two set the table, preparing for the scrumptious smelling meal Aziraphale and Crowley are busy preparing – a dish from the Ottoman Empire, Mr. Fell had said, but Newt can’t be sure the angel isn’t exaggerating. Of course there’s always the matter of _how the heck would he know_? Ancient world history isn’t exactly his forte. Neither is obscure Turkish cuisine. There’s lamb in it – Newt knows that much… sort of. “You guys up for playing a game before dinner?”

Both angel and demon pop their heads up, but Aziraphale answers first.

“Absolutely!” he says, grinning over the appetizer. He shoots an excited glance at Crowley, who has just finished rolling his eyes.

“Yeah,” Crowley says, only giving in because Aziraphale beat him to objecting. “Sure. Why not?”

“Excellent.”

“Newt!” Anathema tugs on his shirt sleeve, pulling his ear to her mouth. “Whatever you do, don’t suggest Pictionary! Or Charades!”

“Why not?” Newt frowns. “I _like_ Pictionary.”

“Why_ not? _Watch this.” She clears her throat and raises her voice. “Mr. Fell?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You know, I was just telling Newt about that mummy we saw in the paper a week or two ago. The one you said you knew. Only I can’t remember his name.”

Aziraphale looks at her blankly, but after a second of thought, his eyes glimmer. “Yes! Absolutely! His name was …” He taps a finger to his temple, struggling to remember. “Crowley! Dear! What was the name of that chap from way back?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Way to narrow it down, angel.”

“Pharaoh,” Aziraphale clarifies. “From (_makes vague hand gesture_) with the (_another vague hand gesture_) and the (_still another vague hand gesture_). Used to (_the vaguest of vague hand gestures_).”

Crowley watches him, expressionless, save a single eyebrow raised. “Amenophis,” he says conclusively and goes back to chopping.

Aziraphale raises a finger in triumph. “A-ha! That’s the one! Amenophis! Thank you, love.”

“Any time.”

Aziraphale looks over at Anathema, smiling smugly as if he’d divined the name all on his own. “Amenophis.”

“Ah! Yes! Thank you! It’d been killing me.”

Aziraphale nods and goes back to garnishing his dish. Anathema turns to Newt, fixing him with a significant look. Slogging through the silence, Newt shrugs uncomfortably.

“Was that the name you were looking for?” he whispers.

“_Yes_!” Anathema hisses. “Did you see what he was doing?” She mimics Aziraphale’s gestures where the angel can’t see. “None of that made any sense!”

“You’re right,” Newt agrees. “They share a brain. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”


End file.
